A Miracle For Wolves
by theaverageficwriter
Summary: Jackson's parents adopting a new girl unravels an entirely new mystery. By the way, what's up with Derek and why does he keep thinking about Stiles in his underwear?
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

Jackson slouches over the granite countertop in his mother's kitchen, a slouch that only lasts about five seconds before his father starts to stare fixedly at the boy's back, forcing Jackson to sit up straight. That's the Whittemore family for you, perfect- from the amount of gossip spread at their expense in Beacon Hills to the arc in their son's back. There is absolutely no room for error in this family, a burden Jackson's had to experience, he presumes, from the day he was released out of the adoption agency's clutches and into the arms of loving people who stand before him.

Hopefully, his new sister won't have to go through this kind of crap. Actually, maybe it's best if she did. That way, Jackson could actually feel like he's worthy of their undying love, not just some burden on their existence.

Jackson, even though he seems so composed- what with his image of complete and consistent assholery to everyone (well except for his best and most trusted friend, Danny)- doesn't exactly know just how to _take _this whole new-sister thing. He's been an only child all his life and _now _is when his parents decide to adopt a new kid? He doesn't know what he feels-anger, betrayal, _no maybe not betrayal_, maybe even a spark of excitement. Whatever this new feeling is, it's really weird and completely different from any thing he's ever had to deal with before. All this thinking about the new kid is starting to make him actually go _numb_, so he decides to free himself of the walls he's managed to build around him-just this once.

"When is she supposed to get here?" Jackson asks for what must be the third time today.

His mother breaks away from her adoptive son's eager glare and makes her way to the newly stocked fridge, her hands finally still when she find the sac of oranges. The agency said Ira liked oranges. That was her name- Ira. When she'd first heard it, she'd been so overwhelmed with joy that she thought she'd brought a smile- a true, heart-warming smile- onto Jackson's face. It was a beautiful name; a name fit for the beautiful daughter she'd soon welcome into her home. Everything about this new daughter was so beautiful to her.

Once again in front of her son, she peels the oranges with a careful precision that makes everyone, even her husband, marvel in the swift motions of her pale fingers. "She should be here before dark. A few hours, maybe more."

The uncertainty in his mother's voice is so strange that Jackson just sits there, baffled. Did he hear the right words? His mother and father have always been punctual. Punctual, Composed, Perfect. Since when is she so content with not knowing the exact time at which the new arrival will, well, arrive?

Family moment or not, Jackson sure as hell wasn't going to sit there for a couple of hours waiting for this new girl to get here. As far as he was concerned, she wasn't his sister yet.

With his backpack strapped firmly on his broad shoulders and his phone already buzzing, he sets out for the long, narrowing path that leads the woods. It's about time he pay the new Alpha a little visit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1**

Derek sits on the rusting porch of the house he still hasn't gotten around renovating, watching Stiles try yet another experiment on Scott. They've been doing a lot of this recently, not that Derek's complaining or anything. As long as they stay in Derek's sight, they won't get in trouble. Getting to watch Stiles all day isn't that much of a disadvantage, either.

Jackson comes up next to Derek, oblivious to fact that Derek isn't giving him the go-away-or-I'll-rip-your-throat-out glare the Alpha's gotten so used to giving him. Jackson knows Derek can smell the whatever it is feeling he's been having on him, though. He'd found no need to hide the new girl thing from the pack, more in fear of Stiles calling dibs on her than the possibility that, had he not mentioned the entire thing, someone might bite her. Call it protective, but Jackson doesn't exactly _want _this new girl who he doesn't even know if he should call a sister yet being forced into this whole thing.

Wow. He really needs to get his feelings sorted out.

"What's up with you?" Stiles, now sitting with Derek and Jackson, asks. Jackson hasn't been himself recently, so much so that even Scott's noticed. That, my friends, is a hard thing to do.

"Ira's coming today."

"Shouldn't you be, like, happy or something?" Scott manages to pull away from texting Allison to speak up, a rare gesture.

Stiles bends over his position next to Derek and smacks Jackson, trying to get passed the new sensitive guy/werecub/man-child-thing to the asshole he plays Lacrosse with. When Jackson doesn't even try to get back at him, Stiles knows he has to give him a pep talk. Because Stiles is awesome.

"Hey, cheer up. You're getting a new sister, not some psycho uncle who has to stay with you because he's wasted all his money on Adderall and Prescription Mary Jane."

Derek flinches at the mention of psycho uncles. The events of the last full moon still have this unnerving, remorse-like effect on him. To think that his own blood, a man he visited in search of something, anything that would bring the nightmares of the fire to rest could kill his own niece-

No. He can't think of those things anymore. He's the Alpha now; he'll have to stay strong for Scott and Jackson. He even has to stay strong for Stiles. Knowing this, he allows the image of his sister, Laura, happy and breathing through those powerful lungs, flutter around through the cold, locked away memories of his family.

Jackson huffs before sliding off the porch steps, his spirit already shedding its human form. Derek had finally showed he and Scott how to transform at will and Jackson was now an expert at turning into the blondish brown furred, enormous wolf that rests somewhere within the expanses of his heart and chambers of his soul.

Sure enough, Derek and Scott are both running with him now, the soft _thump _of their paws hitting the over-grown grass creating a pattern that is and only can be drowned out by the roar of Stiles's Jeep following them in the distance. Running always brings the pack into this aura of peace, like the world they trot around as humans fades away and what's left is this moving, _glowing_ mass of land full or awe-filled opportunity.

They run until Stiles calls after them, willing them to stop because he's either run out of fuel or something's wrong with the engine, again. The grey, abandoned sky has turned black and the moon's come out to do its share of land-watch. That's what Stiles's mom used to say when he'd ask where the Sun went; "It has to go home and take care of its babies, like you."

Derek runs back to the Jeep and insists on Stiles letting him get a look at the thing. "Whether or not that's a sexual reference is what I want to know," Stiles teases. Scott, still engulfed by his wolf, follows Jackson down a river, the sounds of the rushing waterfall spewing into the still, blue-green diamonds below thrashing around the Beta's ears. He makes a mental note to bring Allison here.

After dodging around looking for clothes, (they're naked when they morph back into humans and Derek is the only one who ever actually remembers to toss his shorts into the Jeep before taking off), Scott gives up and sits under a tree, makes sure his _thing _isn't in full view.

Jackson's swimming, either for recreational purposes or because he, too, doesn't want the guys seeing what he's got going on down there. The water swirls around him, his body craving the deliciously cold feeling of being completely wrapped in the sea's blanket. Moonlight bounces off his muscles, making him resemble a radiant, graceful creature of the night. Jackson, though, feels anything but radiant, let alone graceful. He feels so unworthy everything- love, success, friendship. He even feels unworthy of Ira, _his new sister that he hasn't met yet_.

_Crap_. _She's probably home by now_, he thinks. "McCall, I'm leaving," he mutters before morphing back into his inner wolf and running home, his fangs peeking through the smile on the wolf's face.

There's a note on the countertop his mom had been peeling oranges on just a couple of hours ago. His mother's big, organized writing is splashed on the yellow sticky-note in black Sharpie.

Ira's upstairs, say hi. Be nice.

We Love You.

She drew a heart on the bottom and Jackson's face lights up. Sprinting up the stairs, Jackson can't fight the feeling of excitement any more. That's what he's classified the feeling as, excitement. The door to Ira's room is open and the faint sound of water hitting tile beats its way into Jackson's ears. _Crap, _he thinks again. He'd forgotten to go by Allison's and get some temporary clothes for her – his mom hadn't ordered anything, she'd wanted to wait so Ira could choose what she wanted. "Hello?" Ira questions.

Her voice isn't what Jackson expected it to be. It's small yet humorous, full of wisdom. She sounds sweet and welcoming, yet so unlike Allison and Lydia that Jackson takes a step back, recollecting himself. He runs across the hall and into his room, grabbing all the clothes that don't smell too much like wolves. With them now in a neatly folded stack, he ties a blue string around the clothes and places the necklace he'd bought her on top. He leaves a note and runs back to his room like an overly animated-

Something. An overly animated something who just became an older brother.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2**

Ira's eyes flutter open, the foreign sunlight cracking through the beige curtains that line the windows. _This place is strange_, she thinks. Then again, everything outside of the Orphanage is strange. She's never been let out of the refuge's walls for too long. Not that she ever wished to be, either. Ira was somehow content with being caged up for fifteen years, which makes this whole ordeal of suddenly being adopted and having to leave the comfort of Sister Mary's care scary in every sense of the word.

Her stomach grumbling its usual post-awakening roar, Ira rolls out of bed and falls lazily onto the white, fluffy carpet. _We didn't have these back home, _she thinks before correcting herself. This is her home now. Still in that phase where you're awake but really wish you were still sleeping, Ira tumbles over to the vanity her new parents' had set in the center of her new room, the scent of overbearing newness surrounding her like the smell of grease at the back of a pizza shop.

Not that she isn't forever grateful for what her new parents have done or the new life she'd been given, but that's just the thing- it's all too new. Ira prefers the old, the rusted, the vintage. She'll have to deal with all of this, though. For now. For ever.

It was nice of her new and older brother, Jackson, to lend her these clothes. The orphanage's horribly prison-like ensemble had become way too bland. She reads the note, its letters all masculine and its wording completely protective.

_**You can use these until mom orders some new ones.**_

_**I'm down the hall if you need me.**_

_**My name's**_** Jackson.**

"Jackson," Ira tests his name out. It sounds decent enough. She places the note on the vanity's mirror, careful not to turn on the light bulbs, not just yet anyway. Turning her attention back to the stack of clothes, she finds a necklace. Hanging on the silver chain is a pearl-like object, its center the home of numerous blue, purple, and green swirls.

Jackson sits anxiously on one of the stools in front of the breakfast table, his hair a proper mess and his smile unflinching. He knows Ira's up; he could hear her heart beat faster around an hour ago, even heard her say his name. His- _their _parents left early this morning, said Ira and Jackson could use some time alone to "become siblings."

Jackson seconds his father's notion. If anything, he needs to make sure his scent is on Ira so no one will come close to her. The last thing he needs is for Derek to make her a Beta.

Ira comes, rather quietly Jackson notes, down the creaking steps, her bare feet warm against the violet-ish rug that lines the staircase.

Both teens get a good, awkward look at each other.

"Don't be scared," Jackson smiles, "I'm Jackson. I guess you're my little sister?"

Ira nods, the fear of making a bad impression suddenly gone. "Nice to meet you, Jackson."

Jackson points over to a plate full of oranges their mother had left for the new girl this morning, the weight of his elbows on the counter suddenly too much. Standing now, he reaches for the plate and hands it to Ira, watches her devour the pieces of fruit. With her distracted, he takes in the details of his new sister. She has long, and from the looks of it, unruly black hair. Its wavy structure reminds Jackson of the ocean he and Scott run by when Derek's mad at them. Her skin is fairly tanned, a beautiful brown color that brings out the green in her eyes, which are big and almond shaped. There are freckles that cover some of her face and arms, too.

She's wearing one of Jackson's old Lacrosse shirts, along with a pair of shorts he hadn't used since before freshman year. The necklace he'd bought her hangs around her neck, the pearl-like object resting in the center of her collar bone. "I take it you liked my necklace?" Jackson asks.

"How'd you know my favorite colors?" Ira asks, her fingers circling around the shades blue, green, and purple.

Stiles is knocking. He's. Always. Here.

"Derek! I know," the young, comic book loving boy stops for breath, "you're up there."

Derek flies down the stairs and opens the door to a frantic, breathless Stiles.

"What?" Derek groans.

Stiles leans on the frame of the doorway, avoids Derek's question. "Yeah it's not like inviting me in is what a normal person would do had he or she seen me about to _faint _here."

Derek hauls Stiles into what used to be a living room, gently lays him down onto the couch Jackson had ranted about buying before realizing what he's doing and dropping the younger boy on the floor, a _crunching _sound vibrating through the floorboards when Stiles's spine meets wood.

Stiles gets up and rests his shaking body on the couch anyway, eyes avoiding Derek's at all costs. "So I was doing some research and-"

Derek cuts the babbling boy off, "I don't care about what you do when you're running around your room in your boxers."

The image of Stiles, naked but for his heart covered boxers, flashes across Derek's eyes. A smile tugs at the Alpha's face.

Wait. What?

"Anyway," Stiles tries to sound like he doesn't care about Derek thinking of him that way, "I was doing research. You know the thing where you read through articles? Yeah, that."

Derek growls, actually _growls, _Stiles goes on with whatever it is he's trying to say. "So, as part of my awesome research, I started walking through the woods-"

Derek thinks of walking hand in hand with Stiles, eyes focused on the younger boy's eyes. "I need to stop-" he mutters.

"Huh? Well yeah I was walking and I- um, there was a- a-" Stiles starts stuttering.

Derek grabs onto the collar of Stiles's flannel shirt, whispering in the boy's ear, "If you don't tell me what's going on I'll rip your throat out."

"'With my teeth' I know." Stiles looks straight into Derek's eyes before continuing, "I found a body, Derek."


	4. Chapter 4

**- Author's Note-**

**Be sure to tell me what you think! Also, I'm having trouble with the spacing so, the paragraphs may seem a bit weird when they go from one scene to the next**

**- Enjoy -**

**Chapter 3**

Jackson helps Ira out of the icy, blue water of the lake and hands her a towel. He listens to her heart pound dramatically as she struggles to catch her breath, his thoughts still hammering about over the text from Stiles. They'd found a body, needed he and the others to come as fast as they could. Those _others _primarily being he, Isaac, and Boyd, because they all know leaving a potential mount with Allison to investigate a rotting corpse wouldn't sound too good to Scott, Lydia would probably freak and get some other weird Peter image stuck in her head again, and Erica'd be too busy lowering her shirt enough so that her boobs were perfectly balanced between I-was-the-ugly-duckling-and-I'm-hot-now and just-look-already.

"You know how to get back home, right?" Jackson asks absently, pulling his jeans on over his swim trucks, not bothering with his shirt.

Ira's only managed to pull a maroon sweatshirt over her shivering body when Jackson brings her to her feet, takes her hand, and guides her out of the creepy woods and down the road, towards the Porsche.

Without a word, he opens the door to the driver's seat, sits Ira down. The engine's roaring when Ira speaks.

"You know, telling me what's going on would be really nice right now."

The car door slams with more aggression than that of which is necessary but Jackson's just _not _there, in his mind, he's already listening to Stiles go on about why he was roaming around the woods by himself, because didn't he learn not to do that by Exhibit A) Scott, is he just _looking _for Derek to go on some rampage and bite him, we know that he will, but damnit the boy needs to wait. Jackson's eyes close, shutting out the light in hopes of erasing the idea of Derek and Stiles.

He hears the sound of Ira scrolling the window down and turns to face her.

"Oh, hey, Jackson? Yeah, um. I can't drive."

Jackson slows into their driveway, careful not to get any extra scratches on the Porsche. Ever since Derek started training the pack to become more of a, well, _pack, _the shiny black piece of collective metal has been subject to some- indistinguishable yet equally annoying attacks. Whether they're from Erica's heels hitting the bumper on their way down from one of her shifts or from Boyd playing around with Scott, teasing him about his "Romeo and Juliet" love to the point of one of them getting thrashed into a rearview mirror, they happen a lot more frequently than Jackson prefers. They do, however, give him an excuse to take the car in for another fix-up with Danny, which kind of takes him away from the crazy world he'd traded himself into, even if just for a couple of hours.

Looking over at Ira for the first time since he'd gotten in the car, he expects her to duck out and go inside, read some magazine or something. What he doesn't expect is for her to point to something out of the window, keeping her eyes up in worry as she does so. He also doesn't expect to see Lydia walking towards them or hear the familiar sounds of her pink pumps hitting pavement.

Ira scrolls her window down before Jackson can begin to protest. Lydia doesn't introduce herself, doesn't try to figure out who the girl in front of her is. Her eyes are daggers and they've found they're home in Jackson's skull.

"I need a ride."

"Sure! Jackson we can drive her, right?" Ira pipes up, too self-righteous in her effort to prepare herself for the thunderstorm known as Lydia Martin.

Lydia's eyes find Ira and she gives her the classic once-over, scowls degradingly. "Who is this?" She questions angrily, obviously anxious. She must've been somewhere nearby when Derek or Stiles, probably Stiles, told her about the new discovery. That's not a convincing argument, though, because the only place close enough to the Whittemore residence that would relay a spark of interest in the beauty-bound teenager is the nail salon a couple blocks down, but it's closed. Word is there's been a death in the family.

That means she was here, looking for Jackson. On foot? No, she'd never willingly walk somewhere if it didn't leave her with some benefit. Jackson thinks this over, decides that she either got dropped off or left her car somewhere around here.

Which doesn't makes sense, like most of the things on the Supernatural side of Beacon Hills.

"Stay here," Jackson instructs.

Leaving his sister, who he's only known for a day, in front of Derek Hale's house, in a car, a freaking _Porsche, _with the skiesdangerously close to black, _alone, _is not the care-free bonding time he'd envisioned when his father suggested he spend the day with her. Not one bit. She could get hurt, or bored, which is really, really worse than getting hurt, because in one's boredom things that would normally seem extremely risky and horrifying are as alluring as a box full of puppies in front of an Ice Cream shop with a sign that reads "Everything's Free!" taped to a door that has Santa Clause at the register and Obama playing board games with Jesus. Jackson knows this, and so he makes sure the doors are locked and the lights are off when he and Lydia start making their way to the back of the house and, eventually, to the body.

"So," Lydia huffs, taking off her shoes after around an hour of walking, "she's your new sister huh?"

Jackson continues his stride. If they stop now, they won't make it to the pack before midnight, at best. Leaving his sister stranded until midnight? Yeah, not happening. She probably already thinks he's a greedy psychopath, like everyone else around here. Kind of sucks, actually. Jackson really wanted to make a good impression on her. 'Kid could use someone to talk to other than just Danny.

"It's a shame you can't tell her about how you're a puppy. Then you wouldn't have to be worrying over whether or not she's safe back in the car," Jackson hears Lydia stop behind him, he does the same.

"Hey, you can hear her, right? All the way back there?" It isn't a question. Jackson knows this as well as she does. What he doesn't know is where she's going with all of this. Why she was out at his house looking for him, that's a good question to ask, too.

"Even if some random dog starts barking at her you'll be there in a second to whisk her away and she'll be too caught up in you're fake heroism to realize that you're a self-absorbed, worthless, _ruthless, _psychotic, egomaniac."

Jackson watches as Lydia triumphantly walks in front of him, still astounded by the truth in her words.

Ira is standing awkwardly in the doorway when Jackson decides to acknowledge her.

He takes the headphones out of his ears as if to say 'you can talk now'. Ira sits cross-legged at the foot of Jackson's bed, her eyes focused on his. She's looking for something, most likely along the lines of an explanation, but if she's hoping it's from Jackson she might as well just go back to her room and go over the clothes he'd bought for her yesterday afternoon. The whole 'new rotting body we need to be careful about' thing still hasn't settled in, and it's been two weeks. Jackson hasn't been taking it too well, either. New sister, possibly new murderer, it's a lot to deal with. The scariest part of it all is, the murder hasn't even been on the news. To the rest of Beacon Hills, there is no body in the woods. Not a new one, anyway. With this, the entire thing has been even more nerve racking than it should be on the pack, both as a whole and as individual, alleged freaks of nature.

Derek, though, something's been off about him recently. Standing there, pack in place, he looked personally hurt- not like it was a threat to his pack or something but to him, personally. Like he knew the girl with the slashes on her neck.

Jackson knows he wasn't the only one to catch the sudden hint of remorse, but he wouldn't press it. A depressed alpha would be worse than the overly strict one they were now becoming witness to.

Jackson had been avoiding Ira ever since the 'bonding day'. She was an extremely curious person, he'd realized, so staying away from her would keep the impending werewolf story at bay. Right?

"Hey," Ira chimes.

Jackson's chest falls, trying to give off the impression of boredom. "Hey."

"Jackson! Ira! Dinner's ready!" The teenagers hear their mother call. She'd been slaving over the stove all afternoon, (they'd spent their morning buying Ira things for school), in preparation for this dinner. Their first _family _dinner.

Jackson gets up. Tries to get up, more specifically. Ira slams him backwards, wraps her arms around his waist, hugs him.

"Um.. Ira.. what're you-?"

"Shh!" Ira doesn't let go, Jackson doesn't pull away. No one's willingly hugged him before, besides his mother. Lydia couldn't even stand to be in that kind of embrace when they were together. There was that one time with his dad, but they both swore to never speak of it again- under any circumstances. The loving collision has never left the greasy, roughed up garage, although he and his dad do share reminiscing looks whenever their mother, and now Ira, isn't looking.

"Kids! Don't make me come get you!" Their mom calls again. Jackson hears her whisper something about 'teenagers now a days' through his wolfy senses.

"She's serious you know," Jackson laughs into Ira's hair, now standing with her feet on his, moving towards the door.

Ira laughs, pulls away. She's looking into Jackson's eyes again. "Why have you been avoiding me these past couple of days? I mean I know I'm probably the worst sister in history but I'm kind of new at this. If I did anything, please tell me."

Great. Now he's made Ira feel bad. What was it Lydia called him before?

"I- I was. I'm sorry." Jackson Whittemore, sorry? "It's a long story."

"A long story you'll tell me after dinner?"

"No. I have a friend coming over."

Ira raises her brows, smirks. "Lydia and Jackson sittin' in a tree."

"His name's Danny."

"Jackson and Danny sittin' in a tree."

"What? No- no," Jackson states, his smile not doing anything to convince Ira of his innocence, "he is gay, though."

"K-I-S-S-I-N-G," Ira sings, already halfway down the hallway.

"Mom! Ira's taunting me!" Jackson teases, elbowing his sister as he jumps down the last few steps.

Their mother rolls her eyes, ruffles Ira's hair. "Be good to your brother," she orders.

Around the end of dinner, Jackson and Ira, as well as their parents, have become closer than Jackson ever thought they'd be in these few weeks. Their mother shares stories of Jackson's childhood, their father denies being excited about Disney World. When asked, Ira explains how she doesn't have a lot of home-y memories, at least not like the ones they had.

She had a best friend, Jane, who appears frequently in Ira's tales of adventuring about the orphanage with her other close friends, Keanu, Alex, Jonah, and Mathilde, after curfew.

She was a troublemaker, Jackson noted.

They'd sneak into the nursery to look at all the newborns, give them extra bottles of milk when the nuns weren't looking. She was good with kids. Ira also tells stories of how she and Keanu helped Jane visit- well, see, if it came down to technicalities- a boy they'd hoped she'd fall in love with.

There was also this one story about how they tried to sneak out and go to a movie theater once, but failed horribly and got two years worth of kitchen duty.

She'd only completed a year's worth when she was adopted.

"Wait, so you've never been to a movie theater?" Jackson asks.

"I've never seen a movie," she answers.

Then, the doorbell rings and both Jackson and Ira get up.

"That's Danny," Jackson states, walking over to the door _after _giving Ira the '_don't_' look. Ira stands up anyway, thanks her relatively-but-not-quite new parents for dinner, specifically the oranges, and trails along behind her blushing brother.

Jackson slowly opens the door, revealing Danny and his beautiful glory.

"Hey Jackson," the guest smiles, his eyes shifting cautiously to the foreign girl beside his best friend.

"You must be Ira," he smiles again.

"You must be Danny."

Jackson looks at Danny, then to Ira, then back at Danny.

"I CALL THE SILVER WEIGHTS," Jackson yells before pushing Danny and tumbling over the steps, his best friend not too far behind him.

Ira watches the two boys fumble alongside each other, towards the weight room, amused at what she already knows is a true friendship.


End file.
